I gave up on a trip yesterday. Mainly because we had failed before and was looking down the barrel of consecutive cold fronts that would dump a mix of rain and snow as the area moved above and below freezing. Two years ago we had a wild rumpus of rain and woke to a quietude of white. The roads are rough at the best of times and wet snow over mud does not improve them. I called my traveling companion, pulled the plug and we went searching for waterfalls closer to home instead.
Even further away than where I'm not now is another photographic wonder recently discovered by the Instagram crowd. I've never been but do know the area. Like many of my favorite destinations the crush of people has grown. We used to arrive in the desert and run naked through it. Now we gauge how many other camps dot the shorelines of the ancient playas or how many cars are at the trailhead. Everything is marked, mapped and massively overgrazed. And while I feel pretty good about myself nearing 60, I am not fool enough to jump headlong over physical challenges that I once have might. I think about this on cliffs and wetly mossy rocks.
So today I'm home. Catching up on domestic chores and plotting the future. These are the trips I dream of and eagerly eye the first available set of days on my calendar.